


Old Wolf, New Tricks

by MaskoftheRay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack? OOC? Certinaly self-indulgent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Geralt's 1001 'hmms', Give some kudos to your author oh readers on A03 oOO, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, LET GERALT BE SOFT 2020, NO SEX- just cuddles, No beta- we die like womne, POV Alternating, Platonic Cuddling, Plot matters VERY little- this is just an excuse for cuddle porn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft boys being caring, Succubi & Incubi, TW: brief mention of decapitation, Touch-Starved, Wishy-washy canon, You all know what you came here for, brief angst, can be read as gen or pre-slash, hand-holding, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are traveling around, like they do. Currently, they are visiting the people of Eldduc, a village which has a succubus problem. As far as Geralt’s concerned, this should be an easy enough contract to fulfull. After all, he’s immune to the powers of succubi, right? Right…““Hm,” Jaskier says. Geralt snaps back to himself, a distant sour pang of embarrassment running through him. It is obscured by the pleased feeling caused by the bard’s touch. Geralt stills, but Jaskier does not remove his hand. After a moment, the bard finally says, “Look. I know you’ve been witchering for a long time, Geralt. I know youknowwhat you’re doing. But— think of it this way. You’ve been around for a while, and, surely, you’ve learned new tricks, so… Why can’t the monsters? At least the more intelligent ones.”What if the succubi have learned a thing or two?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 302





	Old Wolf, New Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, characterization is based off the _Netflix_ series. 
> 
> Look... the plot to this doesn't matter. We both know the cuddling is what’s important. So ignore any wishy-washy canon, and weirdness in regards to what Geralt can/cannot do to fight succubi. My theory is that he has some kind of witcher immunity. Besides, succubi are a sexist idea anyway. Female sexuality = demonic? *eye roll*

Everything is going well— Jaskier might cautiously say _swimmingly_ — before Geralt begins acting strange.

Mind you, it’s not his usual form of strange, either: prickly anti-socialness, odd witcher’s habits, or even talking animatedly to Roach (though, Jaskier has found, she _is_ a good conversationalist). These are acceptable, familiar kinds of strange. No, it’s… well, it starts when they (as in _Geralt_ , really) are on the way back from fulfilling a contract. This time for a succubus.

Geralt had firmly informed his faithful bard that he’d be sitting this one out.

Jaskier didn’t much feel like having his life force sucked out of him. _Other things_ yes, but his life? No thank you. So, with minimal protest, he’d acquiesced.

However, he had still insisted on arranging a meeting place and time with the witcher before he went about his hunting (Geralt claimed he was immune to the temptations of the succubi and, for that matter, incubi as well) but Jaskier wasn’t too sure. So he’d arranged to meet Geralt beneath the large oak tree outside the village, by daybreak at the latest.

Things had been looking good, for, well before dawn, Jaskier hears Roach’s soft hoof steps, and, in the dimness, Geralt’s pale hair stands out. As does the lovely, pale, **_decapitated_** head of a young maiden— the succubus— which dangles from a rope tied around Roach’s neck. Like an overlarge, gaudy and gory piece of jewelry. _Ugh_.

“Geralt,” Jaskier calls cheerfully. “Glad to see you haven’t got the life force sucked out of you.”

“Hmm,” the witcher says. Which could mean: ‘me too,’ or ‘yes,’ or even, ‘well, I _told_ you I would be alright,’ or even, ‘fuck off, Jaskier.’ In this case, he thinks it’s more similar to the first two.

Uncharacteristically, Geralt stops Roach, and offers the bard a hand up. Maybe it’s just that he recognizes that humans, Jaskier more than most, have shit night vision, and he doesn’t want the bard to trip over something in the dark and sprain an ankle. Or maybe Geralt’s going soft on him. “Seeing from the _lovely_ souvenir Roach is currently wearing, I take it your endeavor was successful,” Jaskier comments.

“Hmm,” Geralt says. _Yes, Jaskier. **Obviously**_.

“I take it the villagers, or a large portion of them, anyway, will be quite grateful for your succor. You know, with their succubus problem.” He smirks at his own pun. As is typical, Geralt isn’t appreciative of his bard’s creativity, the sourpuss, and stays silent.

But Jaskier can read a room— or, in this case, a horse— and so shuts up. They ride on into the dawn, and the bard turns his attention to musing about the rising blush of the sky.

**/ ^ / ^ / ^ /**

Things continue to seem _fine_ until just after the last blue breath of the sunrise has been exhaled. In fact, the first bird has just begun its song— the tune of which is something Jaskier half-hopes to steal for a ballad or two— when Geralt’s oddness starts. Abruptly, the witcher pulls on Roach’s reins and they come to a halt in the middle of the dusty road. Jaskier, whose vision is obscured by the frankly-ridiculously-broad expanse of his companion’s back, leans around Geralt to see what possible obstructions have caused them to stop. There is nothing.

“Geralt?” he asks cautiously; just because _Jaskier_ can’t see anything doesn’t mean nothing is there.

Geralt is silent, but he does turn awkwardly to give Jaskier a glowering look— or, well, it’s not _exactly_ glowering, but there is something startlingly molten in the witcher’s eyes. And, no, despite his wishes, it isn’t a sexual I’m-taking-you-to-bed-molteness. It’s just… intense. In a very non-Geralt way. “Witcher?” Jaskier tries again. Geralt just blinks, shakes his head, looks as if he’s going to say something, but then gives Roach’s side beneath his boot a gentle tap. They continue on their way, in silence.

Jaskier frowns, but puts the incident aside. Geralt’s never been good with his words, so if he has something to say, he needs time to come up with a way to say it.

**/ ^ / ^ / ^ /**

By the time they arrive in Eldduc, the village they’re staying in, some of the shop boys are up sweeping, and a few other businesses are opening up. For the most part, they are ignored, except for a few daring, covert glances. It is better than stones, rotten fruit, or bits of molding bread. _Toss a Coin_ must be working somewhat, then. Jaskier smiles privately to himself. Geralt is still silent.

They reach the mayor’s house just after seven, and there’s a servant waiting outside for them.

Jaskier, tired from spending most of the night leaning against a tree, lets the details of Geralt’s contract fulfillment transaction pass over him. Soon enough, the witcher’s climbed aboard Roach, his movements betrayed by the sound of a full, clinking bag of coins. _Just as it should be_.

Geralt’s silent during the rest of the trip back. Even for him this is unusual, but Jaskier pays it little mind— he is tired, and gods know the witcher must be as well. If it persists after breakfast, and a nap, he’ll pester the other man about it then. They reach the inn, have a quick meal, bathe, and go to their room to rest.

**/ ^ / ^ / ^ /**

As he’d reassured Jaskier before departing on his hunt, Geralt _is_ immune to the dark temptations of incubi and succubi— wouldn’t do much good if witchers went around fucking and subsequently being killed by demons and monsters with the powers of temptation. Of course, he does have to wait until night to face the succubus, as monsters of this kind primarily perform their pernicious magic in dreams. So that makes the hunt a bit more challenging. But it’s still over quickly enough, and Geralt comes away with barely a scratch.

He starts to feel a bit odd just after he’s finished attaching the severed succubus’ head to Roach, but dismisses the feeling as overtiredness. He’d only taken this job to bolster their savings; after this, he and Jaskier are due for a break. So, later, as he’s almost overcome by the urge to… to do _something_ , speak, perhaps, or ask something, just to hear Jaskier’s damned voice, he again chalks it up to sleep deprivation; it really has been a long couple of weeks.

They ride into town as the sun rises. Geralt’s head feels a bit fuzzy. He ignores this, and hands over the evidence of his contract fulfillment to the disgusted-looking mayoral servant for a full bag of coins. He and Jaskier reach the still-quiet inn, eat, bathe, and return to their room. Geralt, overcome by exhaustion, sinks into a deep slumber.

**/ ^ / ^ / ^ /**

Surprisingly, when he wakes, Jaskier’s already up.

Geralt cracks open one yellow eye and inhales. The room smells faintly of dust, leather, soap, and Jaskier. For some reason, this last observation almost has him humming in contentment. Geralt’s insides feel soft, and his brain is still entirely too fuzzy. Jaskier, sitting up in bed beside him, is reading some romance novel, or tale of daring deeds.

“You’re finally up,” the bard says, glancing over at the witcher.

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees. Quite without thought, he sits up slightly, moves over, and inhales the clean scent of Jaskier’s hair. It smells of the bard and the inn’s soap.

Geralt blinks. Beneath his nose— half-buried in Jaskier’s hair— the other man is frozen. Carefully, the bard sets his book aside. The witcher (reluctantly) moves away somewhat to give Jaskier space, though it is almost physically _painful_. The bard slowly turns to look at him, eyes wide and moderately panicked. “What,” he says, “the _fuck_ , Geralt?”

“Hmm.” Jaskier smacks his shoulder and Geralt grunts. More in surprise than pain. _Because that touch…_ the bard’s brief contact with him felt… nice. _Oh_. _Oh **no**_.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says slowly. “Are you quite _sure_ you’re immune to succubi?”

He blinks, feeling distracted. Geralt realizes he’s brought a hand to where Jaskier playfully (or irritatedly) smacked him, and he’s been running his thumb over the spot. Also, he, somehow, has shifted closer to the bard. Geralt’s almost leaning against him, at this point. “Yes,” he says hazily. “Yes, I… I’m quite sure. Wouldn’t do to have witchers fucking monsters.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes, looking disbelieving. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Geralt is happy to just watch him. If he weren’t currently so muddle-headed, he would be more _concerned_.

Finally, the bard sighs, and mutters a curse. “Okay. Okay. Geralt, I’m going to try something, so please just don’t do anything, alright?”

He hums in agreement and goes still. Jaskier gently and slowly brings a hand up and brushes a strand of hair from Geralt’s cheek. That same spark of warmth from the previous contact runs through the witcher again, and he shivers. Jaskier pauses, and repeats the contact. Geralt’s eyes close, and without thought, he leans slightly into the touch. Only Jaskier’s shaky inhale stops him.

“Well… shit,” the bard says. Geralt merely blinks. Jaskier sighs, and fixes him with an apprehensive, blunt look. “Geralt?”

“Jaskier…”

“ _Please_ don’t take this the wrong way, but… fuck— I mean, do you want to—”

“No. Told you, I’m immune.”

Jaskier sighs again. Geralt tries not to be insulted. “Right, right. But… I mean, if you don’t want to sleep with me, then why…” _why are you currently acting like a needy cat?_

Geralt blinks, and then huffs at the unspoken comparison, and the additional questioning of his expertise. If he _didn’t_ know what he was talking about, Geralt would be **dead**. “I’m not.” He goes to get up, but Jaskier’s firm (well, firm for him) hand on the witcher’s forearm causes him to halt, suddenly dazed.

“Hm,” Jaskier says. Geralt snaps back to himself, a distant sour pang of embarrassment running through him. It is obscured by the pleased feeling caused by the bard’s touch. Geralt stills, but Jaskier does not remove his hand. After a moment, the bard finally says, “Look. I know you’ve been witchering for a long time, Geralt. I know you _know_ what you’re doing. But— think of it this way. You’ve been around for a while, and, surely, _you’ve_ learned new tricks, so… Why can’t the monsters? At least the more intelligent ones.” _What if the succubi have learned a thing or two?_

 _Ah._ “Fuck.”

“As in… you _want_ to, or—”

“No. As in, you… may be right.”

“Ah. I see. If we weren’t… in this situation, I might hold that over you. I still may, later.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier shifts, and removes his grip from Geralt’s forearm. His breath stutters at the sudden, _unacceptable_ loss of contact. The bard notices, if his tiny, brief frown is any indication. His brow furrows, and he meets Geralt’s insistent gaze. “So if you’re not… you know, _in the mood_ , how do you feel?”

Geralt frowns. He’s thankful he can’t blush. “It’s not sexual. But it may be possible I’m feeling… some lesser effects. I _was_ cut by the succubus during the fight.”

Jaskier looks briefly annoyed by this omission— like him knowing Geralt’s injuries could have _stopped_ this— and then frowns again. Irrationally, Geralt wishes he would stop. The bard looks much better with a smile on his face. “Putting _that_ issue aside… you’re saying you _are_ affected.”

“Yes,” he mutters reluctantly. And now, despite his daze, Geralt wants to kick himself for not realizing sooner.

“And what are your ‘symptoms?’” Jaskier asks. Geralt frowns and looks away. He purses his lips. The silence is awkward, and he can _feel_ the bard’s demanding gaze on his face. “Geralt. Come on, I want to help you.” _It’s okay, I won’t judge_.

He sighs, and prepares to face his imminent mortification. “I feel… I need— contact. Physical contact.”

Jaskier exhales, and Geralt sees him mouth, ‘Oh’ silently. Then he smiles sunnily. “Well, if _that’s_ it, then no problem.” A pang runs through the witcher. It’s sadness, jealously, and dumbfoundedness. _How is this so **easy** for him? _But his pique ceases when Jaskier cautiously brings an arm around Geralt’s shoulders. It’s a hug. Of sorts. Abruptly, his rising anxiety, which Geralt hadn’t even realized had been affecting him, subsides.

“This okay?” Jaskier asks.

“Yes.” Jaskier smiles, and then slowly, so Geralt can see what he’s doing, and stop him if he wants to, links their fingers together. The sudden, absolute contentment hits Geralt like a kick to the head, and he _melts_ against his bard’s side. Even though he’s just woken up, Geralt soon feels himself falling asleep again.

**/ ^ / ^ / ^ /**

Geralt’s… _clinginess_ lasts until the man falls asleep. It lasts past then too. But Jaskier doesn’t mind— it’s nice to reinforce the knowledge that his friend **cares**. Even if he does get bored after a few hours. By this point, the witcher is well and truly unconscious, and has slipped from his earlier upright position; Jaskier manages to untangle himself then. Now Geralt’s large form is curled closely to Jaskier, and his white locks are spread across the pillow. Jaskier smiles softly to himself and continues reading.

Until he gets hungry. He’s only human, after all. Surely Geralt, who is _asleep_ , may he add, will be okay by himself for a few minutes.

**/ ^ / ^ / ^ /**

A sudden sense of dread sweeps over him. In his sleep, Geralt frowns. He’d previously been engulfed by the deep nothing of a dreamless sleep, but now— _he’s being chased… **no**. Not him. Not chased. Jaskier. He’s chasing after Jaskier, whose form keeps retreating because he’s- he’s being kidnapped by a monster, and Geralt’s job is to protect people from monsters, why can’t he reach Jaskier? He **promised** he’d protect him, and now Geralt has failed. He has failed, and he’s a bad witcher, a **terrible** witcher, and maybe he is a terrible, evil, soulless monster like all the people say, because Jaskier’s only getting farther away and he can’t catch him and save him, and—_

“Hey, hey, hey. Wake up, Geralt.”

With a start, Geralt comes awake. He sits up with a grunt, and waits for his rapid pulse to quiet. Jaskier’s warm hand doesn’t leave his shoulder. Slowly, the witcher’s pulse and breathing come back under control, and he looks at Jaskier, feeling a stupid mix of embarrassed, anxious, annoyed, and _relieved_ — all at the bard, and at his absence, and, now, his presence.

“You alright, Witcher?”

“Fine,” Geralt replies testily.

But Jaskier still squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sorry I left you— I was hungry, and I thought…” _I thought you’d be alright_.

Geralt grunts, more embarrassed.

Jaskier frowns slightly, and a flash of guilt runs though his eyes. “I… is it okay if I go to the table quickly and grab our food?”

He hesitates longer than is necessary. _Why did it have to be a succubus of all things? He **can’t** be this needy, wanting thing_. _It’s unacceptable_. “Go ahead.”

Jaskier’s touch vanishes, and the witcher firmly and brutally represses the brief spark of panic that threatens to set his senses alight. The bard returns to the bed with admirable (and much-appreciated) quickness. He’s holding two plates of food— chicken, a piece of bread, and roasted potatoes. A good meal. Geralt’s forgotten stomach growls. _So maybe Jaskier’s ~~abandoning~~ absence hadn’t been so bad. _

They tuck into the meal, and Jaskier says nothing about Geralt’s actions, and Geralt says nothing about the fact that the bard’s knee keeps in constant contact with his own while they eat.

He and Jaskier stay together until Geralt’s feeling better, and after it’s over the bard is kind enough not to insist on discussing it.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there is quality whump and hurt/comfort in the Batman and SuperBat communities, but... I mean? ALL the Geralt whump and hurt/comfort (rare as it may be) is QUALITY. I need people to bring this kind of energy to the Batman fandom, lol. I read so many good _Witcher_ fics today alone.


End file.
